


atonement

by leafygreenturtle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Begging, Bondage, Cuckolding, Cum Eating, Dirty Talk, Does this count?, F/M, Face-Fucking, Female receiving oral, Fisting, M/M, Male receiving oral, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Rope Bondage, Smut, Sort Of, Spanking, Teasing, Threesome, Vaginal Fisting, blood rubies make an appearance, blowjob, dom! tarquin, gagging, ruined orgasm, sex toys sort of, spitting, sub! feyre, sub! rhys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafygreenturtle/pseuds/leafygreenturtle
Summary: prompt request for anon: "Maybe Rhys and Feyre allow poor Tarquin to finally get his revenge for them swiping the book by allowing him to "punish" Feyre while Rhys only gets to watch"
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand/Tarquin, Feyre Archeron/Tarquin, Rhysand/Tarquin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	atonement

**Author's Note:**

> lots of love to the flower nonnie who sent me this request and inspired me to write this! also to any other nonnie's who sent me asks about this fic

Feyre knew both Tarquin and her mate could scent her. Rhys had been making innuendos the whole night, and sending her images of the three of them tangled up together down the bond, and she knew Tarquin could tell. 

He’d teased her even before they came to this meeting with the High Lord of the Summer Court, saying that she could use two males in bed, that she would love it. 

And now, Tarquin was teasing her too.

“I think you need to be punished for stealing from me last time,” Tarquin said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue like honey. 

“Oh?”

“I think I should spank you, Feyre,” Tarquin said, as his voice slipped into something lower. “While your mate watches.”

Feyre felt herself go breathless and lightheaded. “We’re in your court,” she managed to say. “Your wish is law. If you want to punish me, I couldn’t stop you.”

He hummed in approval. “Then strip.”

She felt blood rush to her face at the boldness of the preposition, even though they were in private quarters, and it was just the three of them. 

She turned to Rhys to find her mate watching her with raised brows. 

Feeling strangely bashful, especially since the others were still clothed in their finery, she started undoing the buttons on her dress, watching Tarquin’s face as it slid to the floor. He motioned for her to come nearer, until she stood between his legs, and his hands slid over her waist, her hips, her backside. Exploring, broad strokes.

His lips pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, and she closed her eyes at the small pleasure. “Safeword?”

“Velaris.” She started working on the buttons of his shirt, then slid it over his shoulders, until he was bare-chested before her. “It’s the same for Rhys.”

He gripped her wrists to stop her from undoing his pants as well, and murmured, “So pushy. We’ll have to fix that.”

She shuddered. 

Then he turned to Rhys and raised a brow. “Ready to be tied up?”

Feyre stood perfectly still and tried to fight the upward curve of her mouth. 

_You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?_ Rhys said down the bond, his voice dry and amused. 

_Stop pouting like you don’t love it._

Rhys’s eyes glowed. She could scent male arousal in the air, both his and Tarquin’s, and the scent of it was so heady she almost sighed.

Tarquin’s eyes flicked to Feyre, then back to Rhys. He gave them both a slow, pleased smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him speechless,” he said to Feyre.

“I think we’ve finally outdone him,” she agreed, laughing when Rhys shoved her lightly.

Her mate just rolled his eyes. “You should tie me up before I decide I’d rather tie you up and have you watch.”

Tarquin, it seemed, was more experienced than he let on. He knew how to tie the knots so they wouldn’t budge, knew where to place the ropes so they trapped her mate just perfectly. When it was done, Rhys couldn’t move an inch. There was rope snaking around his naked body: his chest, his waist, spreading his legs apart, and binding his wrists together. There was even a stretch of rope looping around his balls, not too tight, but just enough so that if he squirmed too much, he would feel it.

“Do your worst,” Rhys said, giving Tarquin a wicked grin when he was done. 

The High Lord of the Summer Court just smiled at him before turning Feyre so that she faced Rhys, and tugging her flush against his body. Her eyes fluttered half-shut as she leaned against him fully, tossing her head back. 

“Do you remember what I told you, Feyre?” He traced her breast with an idle finger, drawing closer and closer to the stiffened peak of it.

Rhys followed that finger, transfixed. She saw the strong column of his throat flicker once. 

“You told me,” she gasped out as he pushed his hard cock against her and circled his hips slowly. “Not to give High Lords orders.”

He hummed in approval. “But you misbehaved. You stole from me, you and your mate.”

He glanced over at Rhys who was watching them, his eyes simmering. His cock obscenely hard, jutting up between his thighs, stiff and demanding. He lay absolutely still against the ropes binding him, defiantly, as if to prove he could.

Tarquin cupped her rear in his hands, squeezing and pulling apart the cheeks, exposing the round pucker of skin there. A shiver ran through her. She wondered if he would take her there, too. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, panting and squirming against him. “For stealing. And lying to you.”

He hummed in approval. “I think you can apologize better than that.”

When he pulled back and glanced down at the ties on his pants, she knew what he meant. Eagerly, with an edge of desperation, she dropped to her knees and unbuttoned him, but he stopped her, using a hand to cover hers.

“So eager to please,” he said, his mouth quirking up in amusement. “But I think I owe you something.”

She felt a gentle burst of his power, like a balmy sea breeze, and then her heart started thundering at what appeared in his palm. 

A blood ruby. 

She heard Rhys groan at the sight of it. 

“Spread your legs,” Tarquin said.

She fought back a moan as she obliged, shifting a little on her knees to spread them. 

He bent down just enough to slide that obscenely huge stone inside her, and this time, she couldn’t stifle her moan as he slid it all the way in, her wet folds parting to engulf the ruby. 

“Don’t let it fall,” he warned. “Or I’ll punish you.” 

She nodded, clenching slightly around it on instinct. Tarquin brought her hands back to his belt and she got the hint. 

She pulled out his length. It was hard and ready for her, and so thick she moaned at the sight of it. She couldn’t help herself from rubbing it over her face before kissing up the shaft of it with near reverence, then licking it from root to tip and watching the muscles in his abdomen tense. All the while, the ruby was a constant weight in her, making her wet, keeping her horny.

Pleasure surged in her belly, and she sucked the head of him into her mouth, moaning at his growl of pleasure. 

He let her set the pace, but kept a hand on her head to keep her from pulling too far back.

She heard Rhys moan at the sight of them, a rough, desperate sound, and she squeezed her legs, rocking against the precious stone inside her. 

Tarquin laughed, his hand still on her head, keeping her there. “She has a nice mouth. It was made to take my cock.”

Rhys swore this time, but Feyre’s attention was wholly on Tarquin now. 

As he’d spoken, a finger had travelled to her mouth, tracing her lips around his cock, tugging her chin further open for him. 

“You can do better than that,” he chided when she tried to take him deeper in her mouth and gagged. 

He moved her deeper along his length, until her nose brushed against the taut muscles of his abdomen. She choked, instinctively drawing back, but he held her there for another few moments, groaning at the sight of her face getting messy with drool. 

He allowed her barely enough time to take a breath before he shoved her on his cock again, this time thrusting with more urgency. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the rough movements as she let him use her throat mercilessly.

When he got close, he gripped her face and fucked it until he came. Her hands fell to her sides at the brutal pace he set, then gripped his knees to steady herself. 

When he came, she swallowed it down greedily, keeping her mouth wrapped tight around him until she was sure he was done. 

His gaze went to her, still on the floor as she looked up at him. He tilted her chin up with a hand and said, “Open your mouth.”

She did, and he spit into her. 

Face burning, she stared at him, slightly wide-eyed. He laughed, then tugged her mouth close.

“Swallow.”

She did, and then felt the sudden urge to glance at Rhys. He was panting slightly as he squirmed against his restraints and moaned her name when she looked at him. 

“Do you think you’ve atoned enough, Feyre?” Tarquin mused. 

She shook her head. 

He made a pleased sound. 

He led her to the bed before them, and sat on the end of it. He patted his lap.

“Lay over my knee.”

Her cheeks heated at the words, at the position he wanted her in. Like an unruly child being disciplined. But she obliged, her movements somewhat awkward as she laid on her stomach across his lap, her ass presented to him. 

From this position, Rhys had a clear view of both of them. 

As if he had heard her thoughts, Tarquin turned to Rhys and said, “I want you to pay close attention.”

Then he brought his hand down on her ass. Face flaming, she squirmed, trying to escape the next blow. 

But he held her down and spanked her again, and again, and again. 

Tarquin looked at Rhys again. “Did you like that?”

“Let me out of this and I’ll show you just how much,” he purred.

Tarquin slapped her again, and she squealed. “That was for your mate’s cheek.”

Rhys’s eyes simmered again. But he kept quiet. 

“How many spankings do you think you deserve, Feyre?” Tarquin’s deceptively soft, honeyed voice asked. 

She squirmed. “Fifteen,” she breathed.

He made a small approving noise. “Let’s double that then.”

When she began to protest, he slapped her again. Hard. “Maybe next time you’ll pick a lower number. Count for me or I’ll start over.”

He spanked her. 

“One,” she gasped out. 

She swore when he did it again, harder this time. The pain in her rear was starting to sting and burn. 

“Two.”

A new problem had presented itself. She could feel the stone inside her shifting around from her movements and her growing arousal, and she had to focus on clenching hard around it to keep it inside her.

By the time he got to twenty, it was at real danger of falling out, and Tarquin knew it. His slaps got harder, rougher, as if he was trying to make it fall out, as if he wanted to punish her more. 

And it worked. She forgot about the ruby inside her, forgot about anything at all besides the stinging pain of his spankings and her counting, and she let her muscles relax.

When he spanked her again, it fell out. 

She moaned, and he clicked his tongue. “That’s going to cost you.”

By the time he got to thirty, she was sobbing and pleading for him to stop, the pain in her rear no longer just uncomfortable.

“No rubbing,” he said, when she tried to soothe the burning in her rear. “You’ve been bad, so you don’t get to.”

She whined, and looked over at Rhys. He was shifting around so much she knew he could feel the tug on his balls from the rope, the slight pinching discomfort. The thought made her wetter, and she squeezed her legs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure. 

Tarquin led her to where Rhys was straining against his bonds, and turned her-the movement so possessive she whimpered again-so that her wet, dripping flesh was eye-level with Rhys.

She heard her mate’s shallow breathing, and could practically feel the words on the tip of his tongue. But he only strained against his bonds. Tarquin smiled.

“Hold this for me.”

Then he stuffed the ruby into Rhys’s mouth. She saw her mate’s eyes grow wide with arousal as his mouth fixed itself around the blood-red stone and he tasted her on it. A stifled moan fell out of his lips.

Tarquin rubbed a hand over her rear, spreading her thighs apart, and said to Rhys, “Watch carefully.”

Then he spanked her on her cunt. Hard. 

She cried out, half in pleasure, half in pain. 

He did it again, and again, and again, until she was grinding frantically on him, only for him to pull his hand back so that she was humping the air instead. 

“You don’t get to come either,” Tarquin said, slapping her hand away from where it tried to rub against her clit. “You and your mate have both been bad.”

“Look at how wet she made my hand,” he said to Rhys. She whined. It was true. She could feel the slaps getting slicker, more obscene sounding each time. 

Rhys moaned, but couldn’t speak with the ruby still in his mouth. 

Tarquin smiled. “Bend over,” he said to Feyre, but he placed a hand on her lower back and bent her over himself. He told her to spread her legs further, and she did. 

Then he slid a finger inside her cunt. Tarquin turned to Rhys as he pumped that finger in and out of her drenched folds, and watched as the High Lord twisted against his restraints, crying out when he felt the ropes around his balls tightening unpleasantly. Feyre writhed against that finger, sobbing at the pleasure that coursed through her. 

When he pulled it out, she turned her head in time to see him bring that finger to his lips and suck. 

Rhys whimpered. His cock was leaking so hard onto the floor, it could have been mistaken for his release. His hips were bucking now, almost as if he couldn’t control it. 

“Poor High Lord,” Tarquin said, “So frustrated.”

He wrapped his hand which was still wet from Feyre’s slickness, around Rhys’s cock. Watched as Rhys’s cock twitched violently, and his hips surged up, rutting desperately into Tarquin’s hand. 

Rhys’s eyes squeezed shut, but Tarquin just withdrew his hand, ignoring the High Lord’s cry of disappointment. 

“I think I like you when you’re quiet,” Tarquin said, chuckling, and she saw Rhys’s eyes flare slightly. “But I want to hear you for what I do next.” He slid the ruby free from Rhys’s mouth, and with a wave of his hand, it vanished. 

Rhys groaned. " _Please._

Tarquin just smiled faintly and turned to Feyre again. Surveyed her like a fine piece of jewelry, or prize cattle. His gaze settled on her breasts as they had the first time he’d met her, swelling a little with every uneven breath she took.

“Offer them to me,” he said. 

She made a small, desperate sound, her thighs pressing together. But she lifted them up in her hands, holding them up for him. 

He lowered his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, and she cried out, arching into the touch. With his hand, he squeezed and plumped her other breast. 

He pulled back, brushing a thumb over the reddened flesh there. 

“What did you say about these, Rhysand? Delicious as ripe apples?” 

Rhys groaned, his face set in desperate plea. 

Tarquin leaned down to suck the other breast into his mouth, biting down on the nipple. Feyre moaned again. 

“Feyre, lay on the floor and spread your legs.” She did, spreading her legs so that they faced Rhys, so that her mate had a clear view of her dripping cunt.

Tarquin said to Rhys, “Watch carefully. Watch what I do to your mate.”

He slid a finger back into her, then added another this time. He curled those slicked digits inside her, smiling faintly when her back arched so far off the floor he had to push her hips back down. 

She came, with a hoarse cry, clenching hard around him. 

When she grew sensitive, and tried to twist away from him, he held her hips down once more, and added a third finger now. 

“Don’t,” she panted, squirming. “I can’t.”

“You’re still being punished. You don’t have a choice. Now spread your legs so your mate can see.”

She screamed when her next orgasm overtook her, and she was sobbing, begging for him to stop as he added a fourth finger, then a fifth, and drove his entire hand in her. 

Her hips were frozen, tense with pain, and Tarquin slowed, letting her adjust to the new fullness in her. She watched, breathless, as he pumped his hand in and out of her, as her wet folds parted obscenely to let him in, to squeeze around him. 

“Do you see how deep I am in her? Watch how good she is, how she stretches to fit all of me inside her.”

Rhys’s eyes were wide, blown with lust. “Please.” He sounded as if the word was wrenched out of him. “Don’t...Please. I'm sorry for stealing. _Please, please, please._ ”

"But you haven't been punished yet," Tarquin said. "Now stop whining and watch."

Only when Feyre had come again, and she was a shivering, wet mess did Tarquin finally relent, did he finally lay her down on the bed, where Rhys could again watch them with a perfect view. 

Tarquin looked over at Rhys one last time, and said amusedly, “Most powerful High Lord...yet you can only watch. How does it feel?”

Rhys only moaned in answer.

“Ready?” Tarquin asked her, a teasing glint of amusement in his eyes.

She nodded frantically, spreading her legs a bit wider.

He held her gaze as he used a hand to guide his cock into her, and she screamed when he thrust inside her, wrapping her legs around his back and clenching hard. 

He kept his thrusts slow and measured, brushing against that bundle of nerves inside her so perfectly each time, that her vision went white for a moment. He gritted his teeth as she tightened around him, and he tried to keep his movements even. 

She moaned, getting lost in it, in the feeling him pounding into her relentlessly. She reached a hand to run over his chest, his shoulders, needing to touch him, needing to feel the hard muscle and the velvet smooth skin of him.

He pulled out, and she whimpered, but then he was kneeling before her, laying her legs over his shoulders before putting his mouth on her. Tasting her where his cock had been sliding in and out of her just a moment before. She moaned, tossing her head back, hands grappling in the sheets.

His tongue slid inside her, curling deep, and she felt herself growing embarrassingly wet. Tarquin lapped it up, licking and sucking at her until she was overcome with pleasure, until her legs trembled and writhed against his head.

Feyre turned now, to look at Rhys. He looked wrecked, almost on the verge of tears. 

Tarquin rose once more, sliding into her. His thrusts were punishingly hard now, as if he wanted to chase the pleasure with a little pain, as if he somehow knew she liked it. 

When she felt a finger pressing into her ass, slicked with her wetness, she whimpered. She was too far gone to complain, she just wanted more. 

“Maybe if you were good, I would have used oils,” he said, and then slid that finger into her.

She cried out, the feeling so intense she almost couldn’t bear it, the sensation of being filled in two places at once. She started pleading nonsense, writhing against him, against those two points of connection. 

“Please,” she sobbed, not sure what she was even asking for. 

But Tarquin seemed to know, as he stroked that bundle of nerves between her legs, and curled that finger in her ass, adding another, all while still thrusting in her. Her vision whitened for a moment before her orgasm crashed into her, and a heartbeat later, she felt Tarquin spilling into her.

She was trembling violently from the aftershocks of her release, and she didn’t know how Tarquin looked so put together as he quietly soothed her, stroking down her sides, kissing her neck, her collarbone. 

When she finally felt steady enough to lift her head, she looked across the room at Rhys. Tarquin followed her gaze, and lifted her into his arms and walked them over to where Rhys laid, still in his ropes. She could feel Tarquin’s release in her, dripping out of her, and it made her feel wanton. 

Tarquin moved Rhys onto his back, and then positioned Feyre on top of him, on her knees. Not touching him, but hovering just above his face. 

Rhys’s eyes were wide, blown with lust. He licked his lips, craning his neck up, but Tarquin had other plans in mind. 

“Stay like that,” he told Feyre. “Let my cum drip into his mouth when it leaks out of you.”

Rhys made a helpless, wrecked sound, and Feyre whimpered.

When Rhys opened his mouth, Tarquin made a pleased sound. “Good boy,” he said, and she felt Rhys flush slightly at the words.

“Stick your tongue out,” Tarquin coaxed. “There you go, show her you want it.” 

Tarquin stifled a groan at the sight of the High Lord swallowing his cum as it dripped out of Feyre. 

Finally, when he was sure there was no more left, he eased Feyre off her mate and turned his full attention to Rhys.

The High Lord was red-faced, squirming helplessly against his restraints, and leaking so badly onto the floor that Tarquin almost felt bad for him. 

He wrapped a hand around the High Lord’s cock, so obscenely hard that he knew this image would haunt him for many nights to come. 

Rhys thrust up into his hand, desperately trying to find friction, and Tarquin let him this time, the precum smearing along his length and making the movements slicker.

“I enjoyed playing with your mate,” he said conversationally. “The way she feels around me, around my cock. The way she tastes.”

Rhys whimpered, his thrusts becoming faster and more erratic. He’d been denied for so long, his body strung so tightly, and he felt lightheaded, almost dizzy with pleasure. Tarquin’s hand gripped him harder, twisting slightly, and the pressure was so exquisite, he felt his eyes roll to the back of his head. He could feel himself getting closer to that edge, the tension in his body reaching a high as he felt his orgasm crash into him-

And right then, Tarquin took his hand away. 

“No! Don’t...” Rhys cried out as his hips continued to blindly thrust up, searching for the pressure that had been there a moment before. His cock continued to jerk with the last shocks of his release, his orgasm ruined. 

He wanted to cry. He felt horribly deprived, his pleasure being allowed to peak and then abruptly cut off. 

Tarquin just shushed him, but didn’t touch him again. “It’s okay, it’s over. It’s over.”

When the last waves of it had finally passed, Rhys slumped against the wall in his restraints, utterly spent. He felt drunk, delirious from denial. The orgasm had taken the edge off, just barely, but he was still unsatisfied. Still aching and throbbing for Feyre. 

His mate gave him a faint, exhausted smile from across the room as Tarquin started undoing the ties on his wrists and ankles. 

“You did so well,” Tarquin was saying. “Both of you.”

Rhys fixed his gaze on his mate and narrowed his eyes slightly. “Next time, you’re getting tied up,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts at my tumblr @rhysandswhore or just drop in and say hi!


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